


Measureless to Man

by subjunctive



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s07e08 The Rings of Akhaten, Gen, Poetry, hints of Clara/Eleven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all the Doctor's adventures involve life-threatening dangers and life-affirming victories, Clara finds. There are quiet moments, moments just as beautiful, as well.</p><p>A sort-of post-ep interlude for "The Rings of Akhaten," set between the time the Doctor and Clara finish their adventure but before he drops her off at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Measureless to Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merryghoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryghoul/gifts).



> Credit for the title goes, of course, to Coleridge's "Kubla Khan."
> 
> I am a casual, out-of-order viewer of Doctor Who at best, so if I've fudged something up with canon, my apologies. Also, my knowledge of geology is thiiiis close to nonexistent, so there's that.

“Well, where to next? Did you get any ideas?” The Doctor stood at the ready, looking at Clara expectantly. His hands were poised over the TARDIS’s controls, the very contradictory picture of stillness and pent-up energy, one that Clara was learning to see as very _him_. She wondered whether he ever got tired, or slept.

“Somewhere . . . calmer?” she suggested mildly, arching one eyebrow. Her toe tapped against the--metal? space linoleum?--floor, whispering out a staccato tattoo.

He frowned. “You mean, somewhere with fewer awakening gods bent on destroying the universe as we know it? Hmm. Might be a bit tough.”

“Not so much with the mortal peril at the moment, no.”

He cast his frown in her direction, which makes her frown right back, mirroring him. “I’m disappointed in you, Clara.” But his voice was playful rather than censorious. “I should have thought you’d have more of an adventuresome spirit in you. Mortal peril is half the fun, after all.”

“We are not all creatures of boundless energy and enthusiasm at all hours of the day.”

He could not restrain a grin at her droll tone, which pleased her more than she’d expected. “Ah, I should have realized you’d want to sleep after a harrowing adventure. I always seem to forget that part.” He cracked his knuckles.

“I dunno, I’m a bit too wound up for sleep after all that.” Clara shrugged, rolling her shoulders, feeling restless itches come and go.

The Doctor’s face turned thoughtful. “Well, let’s see, calm but not boring, adventurous but not dangerous . . . that’s a bit of a tall order.” His face brightened. “I’ve got just the thing!”

He pulled a lever, and the TARDIS whirred to life.

Darting like a dragonfly, Clara was first to the door. “So, where are we, exactly?” She opened the door just enough to pop her head outside to look around.

“One day that habit’s going to get your head bit off,” he said fondly. “I did once take another one of my companions here, quite a while back.”

“Oh, so what have I got, sloppy seconds?” She sounded amused. Reaching over her head, he pushed the door so that it swung wide, revealing a perfectly ordinary landscape of grasses, and trees in the distance.

He adjusted his bowtie smartly. “There, so what do you think?”

“Uh . . .” She wasn’t facing him, but the Doctor could imagine her eyebrows raised to her hairline in an expression that said, quite clearly, “Not Impressed.” “Not that it’s not, you know, _nice_ and all, if you like the pastoral thing, but . . .” _But what’s so special about it?_ her voice clearly finished in his head.

“Oh, Clara, why do you insist on doubting me so?” He prodded her from behind so that she stumbled outside and into the grass. It was only perhaps ten minutes till dusk; he _had_ timed it perfectly, he thought a bit proudly. “O ye of little faith.” When she turned to him, her eyes round and shining with excitement and trust in that way his companions all had, that way that always seemed to get him, he squared his shoulders and extended his arm to her gallantly. “Shall we?” She took it.

There was a river--more of a stream, really--on the other side of the TARDIS that burbled gently, and he led them upstream toward a darkening alcove. He’d landed about a hundred yards away from where he really wanted to be, which wasn’t too far but was mildly annoying, particularly when the above-ground landscaping was really rather boring.

It did not take Clara long to catch on. “Hang on, are we going into those caves?”

“You _are_ a sharp one.” At his words, she elbowed him in the side, and they both swayed as he moved to dodge it, laughing.

“Are we going spelunking? We haven’t got any equipment.”

“Clara, I can’t believe you. After all the time we’ve spent together, you didn’t recognize my let’s-go-spelunking bowtie. It’s quite Official and everything.”

“Are there people here? I mean, aliens? Like a society or something? Do they live underground?” They were very near to the caverns now, and Clara’s gaze darted back and forth between the Doctor and their destination.

“Your terminology needs adjusting. Properly they should be called ‘sentient life-forms.’ And here I thought you were a teacher! There are no sentient life-forms to be found here, however.” He clucked disapprovingly, and did not speak of the fact that the race that had once occupied this planet was long dead. The knowledge pricked at him, much like an irritating gnat, and he warded it off the best way he knew how: by continuing. “Well, I hope you studied your literature at least.”

They had arrived at the foot of a collection of great stone caverns jutting from the earth, part of a larger rock face that reached into the sky. From the mouth of the greatest cave, the river gushed forth.

“Literature? Why’s that?”

He took her hand without ceremony--her skin was cool--and led her into the mouth of the cave. There was still some light outside, just enough for what he wanted. The sun, great and red, had slipped lower. It very nearly touched the horizon now.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t recognize such an illustrious, storied location. A river inside a cave, Clara!” Once they were inside, he turned them both around, Clara in front of him, and positioned her for the best view. They were only a few feet away from the river’s edge.

“A river in a cave, a river in a cave . . .” murmured Clara, obviously trying to remember. “Nope, I’ve got nothing.”

“Xanadu!” he crowed finally, unable to keep it in. “You know, ‘Kubla Khan’? Coleridge?”

“Xanadu? Isn’t that supposed to be in China?” He could hear the teasing frown in her voice, even though he couldn’t see her.

“Of course it isn’t, don’t be silly. It’s here!”

“So when you said you took another companion here . . .” She trailed off. “You meant--Coleridge? He was here?”

“Will be here in the future, I think, technically. My past, humanity’s past, this planet’s future.” So many threads to keep track of. “Don’t know where half that business came from, though, with the pleasure-domes and the sunless seas and whatnot. As you can see, we’re quite alone, and you saw the sun.”

“Artistic license?” she suggested innocently, and he could imagine the quirk of her mouth accompanying those words. “I’m given to understand that poetry is not always simply a recitation of facts and observations. Ooh!” she continued, before he had a chance to treat her to what would undoubtedly have been a scathingly witty response, “it could have been the opium, too. Didn’t he do a lot of that?”

“Opium, eh? That _would_ explain a lot about that night. . . .” muttered the Doctor. “No matter,” he said more loudly, and gripped her shoulders firmly.

“Are we waiting for something?”

“Yes, you impertinent, impatient, impetuous girl. Just you wait and see.”

He could see the beginnings of it already, the reddish flush in the sky creeping toward the cave’s maw. It was shadow-dark in the cave, now, but at just the right angle on just the right day, the fingertips of the sun’s rays would reach inside.

It did not take long for the full effect to emerge. As they stood and watched, the reddened dusk washed into the cave, setting the river alight--and with it, the inner surfaces of the cave walls, which sparkled with countless crystal formations. Everywhere the eye could see, the sunset reflected and refracted, casting everything in a warming glow. 

He heard Clara’s appreciative gasp and could not repress a pleased smile at her reaction, squeezing her shoulders. She turned to face him, her face lit rose-orange as if by firelight, supremely lovely. It was not, he thought, unlike how she had looked mere hours (had it only been hours?) earlier, watching Akhaten with him, bathed in interplanetary light. Had he wanted to see her again like that, so soon? He put the thought away.

She reached out to run her fingers over the irregular crystals in the cave walls. Some of the formations were large, others were small; most rough, some smoother and more polished, a few sharp. Each glittered darkly, rubies all.

Even as she did so, the light around them faded, dimming and cooling. There was still some light outside the cave--it was not full night yet--but the auspicious convergence of sunset and cavern had ended, and it was rapidly growing dark. He could barely make out her face, and reached for her hand again, soft and cool. She squeezed back.

“Well?” he whispered. “What did you think?”

He did so want her to like it.

There was still light enough that he could see the smile split her face, her dark face turned up to his. “You’re such a peacock.” But it was fond, low. “Strutting about, trying to impress everyone.” With each of her words, he felt a puff of air escape her mouth, buffeting him gently. He very nearly closed his eyes.

“Well? Did it work?” And they both laughed.

“It was exceptional. I am impressed.” She swung his hand and they began walking again, this time toward the open air.

“An exceptional sight for an exceptional person.”

Clara stopped, then, and he almost bumped into her at the mouth of the cave. “Well, I’d like to think so, but what do you think is exceptional about me?” She didn’t sound offended, but she didn’t sound flattered, either; merely curious, genuinely wondering.

The Doctor took a breath. “Today, when you offered up your leaf . . .” He paused. “Not many in your position would have done that.” And he almost let that be it, but something about the darkness let him speak a little more freely than he might have otherwise. “I had a chance to do that, knowing that I would even get a perfectly functional replacement, as I have many times before . . . and I didn’t.” His eyes searched your face. “It was quite a remarkable gesture.”

“I said things like that are for keeping and cherishing,” she confirmed, “but I looked at it, and I realized . . . it didn’t really belong to me. At least not any more than it belonged to the tree, then the pavement, my parents, the other possibilities and memories and lives it carried with it. I was just . . . a curator for it. No, a caretaker.”

 _Yes,_ the Doctor thought. _Remarkable._

“Well, shall I get you home?” he suggested gently, and at that she yawned suddenly, too quickly to cover her mouth. Perhaps it was the sunset that had done it, triggered something in her chronobiological clock. Or maybe it was just the abandonment of adrenalin in her system.

“Yes, please.” She began to move again, and the Doctor followed.


End file.
